


...And Throw Away The Key

by ButcheredAngel



Category: Professional Wrestling, World Wrestling Entertainment
Genre: Alternate Universe - Prison, Alternate Universe- Oz HBO, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Death, Death Threats, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Homophobic Language, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Public Sex, Racist Language, Rape/Non-con Elements, References to Drugs, Rough Sex, Secret Relationship, Semi-Public Sex, Threats of Rape/Non-Con, Threats of Violence, Violence, Violent Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-30
Updated: 2016-08-30
Packaged: 2018-08-11 22:34:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,713
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7910182
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ButcheredAngel/pseuds/ButcheredAngel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>CM Punk is a bastard. Randy Orton is a psychopath. And both of them are in prison for murder. They're both part of two different prison gangs and hate each other. Until they don't. Until things get messy. Both are just trying to find reason for their existence and how to cope with the crushing reality of prison life. Maybe with each other? Or with killing each other? Who knows.</p>
            </blockquote>





	...And Throw Away The Key

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer- I do not own WWE, or their characters, or Oz, as I am stealing the basic premise of their storyline.
> 
> Slang (In case it's not explained in the Chapter, or if you haven't watched Oz)
> 
> Prag- Prison Fag or Bitch
> 
> Tits- Drugs
> 
> Shank/ Shiv-a makeshift weapon to stab someone with, could be a toothbrush that's been sharpened, or a bedspring.
> 
> Pods- Cells
> 
> Hacks/ CO's- Prison Guards, or Correctional Officers
> 
> Gen Pop- General Population

Seth Rollins could feel the bead of cold sweat he'd been trying to will back into his skin, finally dribble down his clothed back. He leaned forward, digging his elbows into his knees as he ran his hands through his two-toned hair. _This couldn't be happening. It just couldn't._

Guilty. He was guilty. He knew that. He couldn't deny the fact he'd killed a man. They all had- Dean, Roman and himself. Fuck, they'd been in prison for years. But nothing like this.

They started out in New Hope, Xavier and Thorburn county jail for various things. He'd been in for a stint of theft, 5 years. Out for parole in 2 with good behaviour. But then he'd met Dean and Roman. And they ran that place. Things got out of hand when someone shanked another prisoner, and an all out riot occurred. He'd just been protecting himself, and his brothers from getting shanked themselves but everything was caught on camera.

And so here he was. At Windsor, Westboro and Edgecombe Maximum Security Correctional Facility, or WWE as it was known on the streets.

Supermax and county were two very different things. If he was being honest, he was terrified, but he'd never show it.

"Got any idea why the fuck we were separated from genpop?" Dean asked beside him, breaking him from his inner turmoil.

He glanced over at the dirty blond, watching his blue eyes switch between him and Roman. The Samoan, always the silent one, just shrugged, his long black hair falling into his face.

"We're going to solitary?" He guessed.

"Pretty and dumb. I should have guessed."

His head snapped around following the stranger's voice behind him. He hadn't even realized there was someone behind them.

"Fuck you." He snarled, glaring at the monstrosity of a man sitting behind them at the furthest bench in the room, against the wall.

He wondered if this was the prisoner the Correctional Officers were whispering about. The man on his third strike for killing a man with his bare hands. He wasn't surprised, the man was easily over 6ft and at least 250 pounds. All muscle, with a shaved head, black beard and two sleeves of tattoos.

The man barked out a deep chuckle. "Aw that's adorable. What a mouth. What else can it do?"

Before he could defend himself, Roman did it for him. "I dare you to say that again and I'll rip your fucking throat out."

"Hey I'm just beginning my prag search. Gonna be in here for a long time. I'd make sure to claim that one soon. He's just so pretty." The man winked at him, giving him chills. He was no one's bitch.

"So do you know why we're here?" Dean asked, gesturing around to the room, and toward the bars. "This ain't genpop."

The man smirked. "We're going to Unit RAW."

"RAW?" He blurted out, curious.

"The Rupert Anderson Ward. But it's been shortened to Unit Raw" Seth turned back to face the front where a CO stopped to stand in front of them. "Unit Raw is an experimental unit run by Stephanie McMahon, yes the daughter of Warden McMahon. It's a new approach to the prison problem. In RAW we got rules, got more rules than the rest of the prison." The man paused, taking out a cue card, an obvious prepared speech. "Your cell is your home, keep it clean, are to exercise regularly, attend classes, go to drug and alcohol counseling.  
You are to work in one of the prison factories. You are to follow the routine. We tell you when to sleep, when to eat, when to piss. There is no yelling, no fighting, no fucking. Follow the rules, learn self discipline, because if you had any self discipline, any control over yourselves at all, you wouldn't be sitting here now. Questions?"

He shook his head, glancing over at Dean and Roman who both kept quiet.

"What Batista?" The man sighed.

"Is Hunter and Randy still in RAW?"

"Find out when you get there." The man barked back, before gesturing to someone behind the bars beside them, and they opened, a loud buzz sounding as they did. "You'll have sponsors from RAW. They will help you acclimate to your new life."

Another CO came into view with a prisoner following beside. This one too was overly large, standing at least 6ft too with long blond hair, and a blond beard.

"Dave, man fuck. I heard you were coming back. Third strike. Can't believe it." The man shook his head as he extended his arms, and the other man, Dave Batista- he assumed by piecing the information together- embraced the other.

The CO who'd read out the rules, interrupted them. "David Batista" He gestured from the bald one to the blond. "Hunter Helmsley."

"I can't believe I actually missed this ugly mug Hunter." Batista laughed, clapping the other on the shoulder.

"New blood huh." He felt another shudder run through his body as blue eyes landed on him, and lingered. The two of them shared a look as the older one came forward, examining him like a piece of meat. "I'm Hunter, but everyone here calls me Triple H. I run this place."

"Modest much." Dean snorted, moving to straddle the bench, and put his body between him and Triple H.

"He ain't lying," Batista interjected. "Triple H is a lifer."

"And I do control my own gangs. Evolution and DX. If I were you boys, I'd quickly make my alliances and I'm just trying to help you make the right one. Life in here can be easy, or hard." Something changed in his eyes and Seth felt a lump begin to form in his throat. "I'm the easy choice."

"Oh get off your fucking high horse Hunter. You run a group of senior citizens."

He knew that voice.

He stood up from the bench as the new arrival appeared into view and his face lit up. "Phil?"

"Seth fucking Rollins. Is that you? A sight for sore eyes. What the fuck are you doing here?" Before he could take a step, he found himself enveloped in a pair of heavily tattooed arms.

"Prison riot that got out of hand. I was just defending myself but they never see it that way." He shrugged.

He hadn't seen Phil Brooks in years. The two of them lived in the same foster house for years before Phil went to prison. He'd been like a big brother to him, always looking out for him. He kept him from the drugs.

"Nah, they always see us as scum." Phil snorted, his two arms coming to rest on either side of his shoulders. Phil had changed since the last time he'd seen him. Shorter black hair, facial hair, and more tattoos. Always with the tattoos. "Man kid, I can't say I'm not happy to see you but I wish it was for another reason. But don't worry about Hunter here," Phil gestured to the blond, who was all but glaring at them. "He's practically harmless. He always fails to mention he has competition. And it's good news for you because it's me." Phil smirked. "I run my own gang. NexSes. Long story. I'll explain later."

"Punk you better watch that mouth, or it'll get you into trouble." Triple H snarled, taking a threatening step to Phil, but turned his head towards him. "Kid, just know my offer still stands. For now. Always remember, friends are important to have, make sure you choose the right ones."

"Alright, you done Helmsley or are you going to offer a welcome to prison fruit basket too? Let's go you two." The CO who'd brought in Triple H snapped, and he, Hunter and Batista both walked away from them.

"Phil Brooks this is Dean Ambrose," The CO who'd first given them the _warm_ welcome gestured to the dirty blond, who just gave his famous half grin, half smirk. "Roman Reigns." He gestured again and the Samoan just nodded in Phil's direction. "And you clearly know Seth Rollins."

"Chioda I wish you'd just call me Punk. Everyone else does." Phil grinned, as the CO just snorted.

"Punk?" He raised his eyebrows.

The older man shrugged. "CM Punk. It's a nickname that I got when I first went to juvie. It's stuck since then."

He wanted to ask what in the world CM stood for but the CO spoke before he had the change. "Brooks, Rollins I don't have all day. You can catch up in RAW. Let's go."

* * *

It had been a whirlwind of a half an hour, walking into Unit Raw. He'd never seen a unit so open. There was a big open space with round tables and chairs, and tv's at the end by the stairs leading up to the next level. On either side, and above were what Phil had described as pods. They were more like glass cages, with your standard bunk, metal sink and toilet, that were attached to each other, and a shelf. Their pod was different, as they had three beds, instead of two. Apparently due to overcrowding, so all three of them got to bunk together. Theirs was behind the stairs, on the right.

He was currently sitting around a table outside of Phil's pod, overlooking the whole unit on the next level. Just below them, on the landing between the two floors- was where the CO's desks were located. Equipped with monitors that were relaying feed of the entire unit, that formed a semicircle, with other controls which he assumed locked the pods. The second floor, however, was much smaller, as it was just a landing with two short hallways attached that lead to two other pods on either side.

"..and Hunter and Shawn have the pod across from you, thank fuck there's a wall between you guys. You do NOT want to see those two fuck at night." Phil was going on, and he zoned back into it.

"Shawn?" He asked.

"Michaels. Yeah. That one." Phil pointed below them, to a man sitting next to Triple H, with long brown hair and a beard. He appeared to be the same age as Hunter, with a plaid shirt and jeans on. He felt a little better seeing someone else with a small stature. He felt like the only one who wasn't a bodybuilder. Besides him, Phil and Dean. Roman fit the build like Batista and Triple H. "They've been butt buddies forever. Though it's a little fucked up because Triple H is fucking Stephanie too."

"What?" Dean snorted.

"Yeah. It's why Hunter has the power he has. Helps to fuck the warden's daughter. " Phil shrugged.

"Punk!"

His eyes widened as he followed the voice to a beast of a man. He'd thought Triple H and Batista were massive, but they were nothing compared to the mountain with legs coming towards them.

"Brock!" Phil exclaimed, waving over the man coming up the stairs, who ended up taking the seat next to Punk. Someone in just plain black shorts, no shirt should not be so terrifying but somehow he was. With the sword tattooed on his chest to his broad face, small blue eyes and huge shoulders, he just screamed killer. "This is my second. Brock Lesnar. And Brock." The brunette gestured around the table. "This is Roman Reigns. Dean Ambrose, and my little brother Seth Rollins."

"Hey," He bit his tongue as a soft, much less masculine sounding voice he'd been expecting came from the beast. "So you finally got a new cell mate."

"No." Phil snorted, crossing his arms. "They roomed the three of them together. Which whatever, but I'm seriously fucking worried. They won't let you move into my pod, or Seth. Apparently, Stephanie has already found me one."

"Fuck." Brock breathed out.

"Why is that bad?" He asked.

"Cause Stephanie likes to change it up. Force us to room with people we hate. She thinks if she mixes up the prison gangs then somehow that'll get us to get along. It's fucking bullshit. It's her way of helping Hunter eliminate us. Usually Paul Heyman, who you'll meet later, he's the councilor here, gets me out of this bullshit but apparently it's over his head this time." Punk just threw his hands up in frustration before yelling down to the landing below. "Hey Chioda, when do I get my new cellmate?"

The CO from earlier glanced up from the computers to just sigh. "You know all cellmate arrangements are made and should be discussed with Ms. McMahon, Brooks."

"Fuck."

The beast just patted Phil's back comfortably. "Maybe it's Bryan. I hear he's supposed to be coming back from the infirmary soon."

Punk sighed. "Hopefully." He perked up quick though as he turned back to face him. "Daniel Bryan is part of our little group. He took a shiv to the back a month ago. I swear the man is cursed with bad luck but he's awesome. We shanked Ryback for the trouble, that dumb fuck is long gone now." Seth couldn't help but laugh, who ever called themselves Ryback?

"You did one nasty fucking job of him Punk. I heard his family can't even have an open casket funeral."

"It's because of his dumb fugly ass face Brock."

The beast laughed, and he and Dean shared a mutual smirk over the blonde's equally girly sounding laugh.

"But in seriousness, we need a plan. You know Hunter isn't going to take his man's death in vain. We need to be three steps ahead." Phil said.

"And you think these kids can help."

"We're not children." Reigns snarled, making him snap his neck to the side, wondering why in the hell Roman would anger the monster.

"Oh, you didn't just come from juvie boy? Let the men, let the real killers talk." Brock answered, his beady eyes narrowing into slits.

He could feel Dean tense up beside him. "Who are you calling boy, freak. You. Me. Two minutes. I'll have you bleeding."

"Dean. Roman. Please." He threw his hands up in some vain attempt to calm the two men. "In some ways, Brock here is right. We did just come from county. Sure we ran things in NXT, but this is a whole new territory. Let's try to keep our friends. Phil is family to me. We can trust him." He stared down both men. "Alright."

Dean clapped him on the shoulder, pulling his head so their foreheads were touching. "Alright, brother."

He glanced over at Roman who just leaned forward wrapping his one arm over Dean's shoulder, his other hand extended into a fist. "Alright, Seth."

He smiled, as both he and Dean put their fists together.

"Aw cute, the kids have a secret handshake."

"Brock," Punk warned as he just smiled at each of them as they separated. "With Batista back, Evolution is officially back. And with Orton coming out of the psychiatric ward soon, you know Hunter is going to put the old gang back together. And you know what that means."

"My kill list got bigger." Lesnar snorted.

"Trouble. It means trouble you dumb, loyal fuck." Punk laughed.

Lesnar just patted Phil's back with his monstrous hand as he too chuckled. "Lighten up Punk. I'll get you some pepsi. And we can just have the night off. We're not going anywhere. Let that weary mind have a rest." His eyes moved toward them. "Why don't you kids go and make up your pod. Go explore. Go to the gym. Go find out your work assignments. Tomorrow is going to be one hell of a day."

He turned to his fellow Shield members, who just shrugged and nodded. They did need to learn the new layout.

* * *

Punk slowly rolled the can of pepsi between his hands as he stared down at the chessboard, waiting for Brock to make his next move. He wasn't particularly paying attention. He was more concerned with the arrival of Batista, and what that meant. Hunter was going to use this to his advantage. Batista was fiercely loyal.

"Night off remember? Lockdown will be soon. Just try and have fun, as much fun as this shithole can be." Brock chuckled, fumbling with his rook between his sausage fingers.

"I'm just worried. This war has to end sometime right?" He rubbed his weary eyes, wishing his brain would just shut the fuck up for once. He would really like to have a good night's sleep. "And now with Seth-"

"How do you know Seth anyway?" Brock turned back toward the pods, to the one where Seth and Dean were currently occupying. "He's a pretty one."

"Don't Brock," He sighed. "We were in a group home for awhile. Seth's father was an alcoholic asshole just like mine. Beat that poor kid daily. He came to us with two broken arms. I can't believe he's here. He's so smart. I tried so hard to get him on the right path. Made him go to school. Stole him school supplies. Man, I fucking wanted him to escape the cycle."

A hand landed on his own. "Don't beat yourself up Punk. Shit happens."

"Can't help it. He's my little brother."

"Well, you better watch over him again because man, is he getting eyed up."

His head shot up as he watched, Batista, Hunter, and a few others stare as Seth unbeknownst to him was currently stripping in his pod.

"Fuck,"

"You should claim him." Brock shrugged. "Could help you release all that stress. Keep the boy safe. Make you a little less than a miserable fuck." Brock paused as both of them observed Roman Reigns coming back to his pod, giving the room a threatening gaze. "Unless you think that Samoan has claimed him. Or the dirtbag. Or both."

"Seth doesn't swing that way."

"None of us swing that way. Prison changes a man. And his sexual needs." Brock chuckled. "Unless they're you. You and your damn morals. How you stay straight edge in fucking prison is beyond me."

"It's called principles Brock."

They fell into silence as he moved his bishop, taking Lesnar's pawn.

"Brooks."

Both he and Lesnar turned to see Stephanie McMahon standing on the landing by the CO control center in the middle of the room. She had a hand on her hip, in her usual black, knee length dress and six-inch heels to match.

"Congratulations. You will be getting a new cell mate." She called out, gathering the attention of the other inmates. "Randy Orton has officially been deemed mentally sound and able to come back to Unit Raw. He'll be here tomorrow."

"What!" He exclaimed jumping to his feet. "Orton killed his last roommate. That's why he's in the loony bin to begin with. I'm not fucking rooming with him."

"Too bad." came Stephanie's curt reply. "He's specifically asked for you. Don't worry, he promises, no more killing."

He snorted, rolling his eyes. "Fuck" he breathed out as Ms. McMahon went back to talking to the CO's.

As he sat back down, his eyes met Hunter's, and the blond just smirked.

Fuck.

XXXXXXXX

Three days ago,

Punk walked into the hospital room, a little white paper cup in his hand.

He hated seeing Orton on a good day. The man was a violent, stupid psychopath controlled by an even bigger idiot named Hunter. He'd been in the psychiatric unit three times this year alone from hearing voices. It didn't surprize him. The dumb fuck had killed god only knows how many people in and out of prison- his conscience was bound to catch up with him. Though he was surprised the asshole had one, to begin with.

He came out of his own headspace as he surveyed the horrific artificially lit room. Orton was laying on the bed, with the back up so he was in a slightly inclined position. His beady blue eyes were trained on him as he navigated his way through the room. There was always something malicious in those small eyes but he ignored it to stand next to the bed.

"Dr. Young asked me to bring your pills to you," He said, extending his hand with the pills toward Ortion. "The nurses are busy with Rhodes."

Orton slowly licked his lips, looking him over like prey. "I fucked him up pretty bad huh?" The viper, as he'd been nicknamed as, titled his head to the side. "Does he still scream my name?"

He snorted, shoving the paper cup into the man's chest. "Take the damn pills Randal. Or don't. I don't fucking care either way."

It took every ounce of strength not to punch the dumb fuck in the face as his fingers caressed his own. "You'd make a sexy nurse Punk."

"Excuse me!" He snarled, as Orton took the little cup and downed the pills, his eyes never leaving his.

"You have a nice mouth. And a nicer ass. Seeing you in a little white dress would drive anyone crazy."

"Nurses wear scrubs asshole." He took back the paper cup, crumbling it up and tossing into the garbage next to him. "And you'd look sexy in a coffin, but we don't always get what we want. Now do we?"

He didn't bother to wait for Orton to reply, instead turning on his heel and heading to the door. Who knows how long it would take for the brunette to rub two brain cells together.

"Aw stay awhile Punk."

"Fuck you, Randal."

Before he could open the door, it was thrown wide, CO Robinson stood in the doorway. His uniform was disheveled and his facial expression read clear worry.

"Oh hi, Phil. Randy. There's been a slight-" He wasn't able to finish though as deafening sirens blasted through the room, and corridor. "Commotion out here. I'll need you to say here with Randy, Phil. The Riot squad will be here shortly."

"How long?"

"Does it matter? I have to go. This door will lock behind me." The older man looked between them. "Don't do anything stupid."

And like that Robinson disappeared, the door closing behind him. He tugged on it for good measure. It was locked.

"Guess you'll have to stay awhile."

He rolled his eyes, his back still to Orton. Fuck.


End file.
